Priceless Insurance
by BonGarland
Summary: Two performances in, and Thaddeus Bradley is still stumped. Who is organizing, directing, coercing the Four Horsemen? When his curiosity gets out of hand, he brings in a little insurance in the form of Henley, to guarantee some answers. Will get AU. Rated for a few situations. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing, just the feels...**

* * *

She never saw it coming, looking as closely as she was at whether or not she was followed. It was stupid, and she should have heeded Daniel's constant warnings. Look further, at the entirety, not the details.

Henley Reeves was on her way back to her hotel room after the second performance, weaving her way though the foot traffic in the heart of the French Quarter in New Orleans. It was very easy to blend in, but with so many practiced eyes now following the Horsemen's work, she had to further the camouflage. With a bright teal scarf covering most of her trademark red locks, she hurried down Bourbon Street to the Royal Sonesta Hotel, where the Horsemen had booked rooms, heels clicking on the worn pavement, slick from some evening rainfall.

That may have been why she didn't hear any approach, loud as her own steps were on the wet sidewalk; or perhaps it was the bubble trick's finale clouding her thoughts; or the fumbling in her small clutch for her room key that distracted her sufficiently.

When Henley's gaze rose from fumbling in the cramped evening accessory, key trapped in a triumphant grip, she was startled to be face to face with Thaddeus Bradley. She smoothed her expression instantly, adopting an air of cool disdain. "Can I help you, Mr. Bradley? Maybe I could show you where on my person I've stashed the stick I'd like to shove up your-"

Her words were cut off as a large hand slapped across her mouth, and a burly arm bodily lifted her from behind, clamping across her slim waist so tightly she could barely breathe.

"No, Miss Reeves, the only conjuring trick I'd like to see from you right now is your employer's name, appearing written nice and clearly on this notepad," Bradley intoned quietly, raising the aforementioned tool and an expensive-looking pen. Henley struggled in the grip of the behemoth who had her still off the ground, apparently without much effort; her weight loss had apparently had a few unfortunate effects too, it seemed. Her captor didn't so much as twitch, instead tightening his already-crushing grip, eliciting a muffled squeal from her.

She could vanish from a fish tank wherein she was chained thoroughly, float across a performance hall in a bubble, but Henley Reeves couldn't escape these confines.

Thaddeus Bradley's brow quirked up in annoyance. "If you're quite finished with your futile attempts to escape my friend's friendly embrace, I'd like a name, Miss Reeves. This need go no further." At her glare and silence, he sighed, putting away the notebook and pen, and retrieving something Henley couldn't make out in the dark alleyway. Why was there never any passerby in proximity when you needed one?

Bradley handed the object to her captor, who released the vice grip around her waist, only to bring the thing, which turned out to be a chloroform-soaked rag, to her face. She held her breath as long as she could, straining away from the cloth that would render her helpless, praying Daniel would notice her lateness and come trace her steps.

It didn't happen, and as she tearfully inhaled the sickly-sweet chemical, darkness took her, ending her struggles. The man holding Henley tossed the rag to the ground, and pulled the scarf from her hair, doing the same, so interested parties would know that she was definitely compromised. With a muted grunt, Bradley motioned to the man to follow him, and so he easily hefted the diminutive girl's frame, accompanying Thaddeus to the back of a dark SUV, swinging her into the back seat.

"That was easy," he ground out, and Bradley nodded, smiling. "We'll see how they like vanishing tricks after this."

* * *

Daniel glanced at the wall clock for the fourth time in ten minutes, blinking with vision clouded by at least three iced portions of whiskey. He wasn't much of a liquor fan, but the Horsemen's devoted audience liked to send them gifts, and what better gift to partake of than the namesake of the street they were on?

He tossed back the rest of his current glass, frowning as he glanced out the window again. Henley had promised to meet him to talk tonight, in his room which neighbored hers. She hadn't even come back to her own all evening, and it was uncharacteristic. Maybe he was just on edge, with the limelight focused squarely on their small group as it was these days. But what if something had happened? They had some psycho fans, after all, and Henley was so small…

The ringing of Daniel's phone distracted him from his anxious thoughts, and he stumbled to the device at once, disappointed at the name Merritt on the screen instead of Henley. Swiping a clumsy finger across the screen, he raised it to his ear. "What?"

"Hey, you seen the little girl yet? Room service is banging on my door over here, saying she called ahead an hour ago saying that she'd be here within five minutes, but she hasn't answered her door or her phone…I'd kinda like to get some sleep, you know, being an amazing mentalist is ninety percent beauty sleep…" His teammate's news had Daniel even more anxious.

"Just hand them a fifty and pull whatever it is into your room," he muttered distractedly, "I'll try and find her." He hung up before Merritt's indignant tone had formed more than one syllable, running a hand through his hair and shoving the phone to his ear again as he crossed to the door. Pressing another key, he waited impatiently as the other end of the line rang and rang, finally ceasing as Henley's chipper tones greeted the caller. "Sorry I can't get to the phone right now, I'll get back to you!"

He shoved the device back in his pocket in frustration, flinging the door to his room open and slamming it with as much fervor. Summoning mental clarity with all the might he could muster, Danny rushed to the elevator, pushing the lobby button over and over until it protested with a loud beep.

* * *

Once in the lobby, he rushed outside, trying to think where she could have gone. They were all to answer their phones at any cost, at any time, as it was so critical they stay in touch and keep astride of any developments. All he was met with was a dark, damp road, peppered with drunk tourists and pimps brandishing business cards. He started down the sidewalk in the direction of the Savoy, hoping to run into her. Maybe her phone had just died.

Still trying to shake off the effects of the whiskey, Daniel lowered his gaze to the pavement as he walked, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to concentrate. Suddenly, he caught sight of a bright strip of material, standing stark against the murk of an alleyway looming out of the darkness on his right.

It was a scarf he'd bought Henley, joking that her hair was a dead giveaway and a liability when they had a getaway in progress, and she'd laughed, pulling it out of its bag and wrapping it around her shiny red locks straightaway to see how it looked.

He'd seen her shove it in a pocket of her trenchcoat this evening, in preparation for the post-show scatter they always employed. But as he raised it to his eyes now, he caught a strange scent on it, and quickly whipped it away from his face. It was a scent he recognized from the days where he had used more animal participants; sometimes they needed to be tranquilized to stay quiet enough during the execution of a trick, and so he had adopted chloroform in low doses as a tool.

"Henley?" His voice was far too high and frantic-sounding for his own liking, and he swallowed thickly, turning in a circle in the alleyway. His foot hit something else, and he looked down, pulling his phone out and hitting a button to illuminate the area dimly. It was a rag, apparently wet with some substance…

Danny gingerly leaned close enough to ascertain with dismay that it was the same chemical, and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to compose himself before putting a three-way call on the line, to Merritt and Jack. "Guys? Henley's…been taken, I think." He tried to hide the shaking in his voice, tried to act as though it were any of his other partners who was missing, not the one he was most emotionally invested in. "We're down to three horsemen."

* * *

**Here's to keeping up momentum! Cheers! ~Bon**


	2. Chapter 2

**The way I have the plot ordered may not make sense yet but...Enjoy!**

* * *

When Henley regained consciousness, it was to the sound and sensation of her phone buzzing quietly. Her head was pounding as if a sledge hammer had been taken to it, and maybe it had, for all she knew. She sat quietly for a moment, eyes clenched shut, letting her head clear and memory of what had happened return. Then she took stock of herself.

She was tied down to a chair at the ankles, knees, and waist, while her hands were uncomfortably chained straight out from her sides. She was still clothed; that was good. Her heeled boots were still on; even better. And something jammed in her bra was buzzing like crazy against—Wait.

She sent a mental thanks out into the universe for the fact she had the odd habit of keeping her phone stuffed in her bra at all times, even at home or when performing. If someone had patted her down, they thankfully hadn't been _too_ thorough, and maybe assumed the phone had been dropped in the scuffle.

Her hands posed a slight problem; if the rest of her were unbound, maybe…But Henley Reeves was nothing if not an escape artist, and she would figure something out. Whoever was calling would have to leave a voicemail, as she scanned her surroundings, chewing on her bottom lip in concentration. It was a dreary, windowless room that looked to be in some worn down warehouse. How typical for an abduction. The floor was filthy, the rusty door looked ready to fall from its hinges, and the ancient piping above her head looked hardly secure enough to pass the barest safety codes.

The chair she was in was wooden and rickety, and her bindings were all metal chains, presumedly so her captors would know if she were moving about. Experimentally, she tested the limits of each binding, ending with her hands, which she swung up and down with as much might as she could muster. The loud resulting clangs led to a thumping of footsteps headed in her direction, and she quickly feigned unconsciousness again, leaning to the right as if she'd simply slumped in her stupor.

There was a horrible screeching noise as the door was wrenched open, but Henley forced her muscles to remain motionless, listening intently as whomever had entered moved closer. They were breathing harshly and taking heavy steps – the man who had grabbed her initially? – and stopped right in front of her. Abruptly, her chin was grabbed and swung upwards. A throaty chuckle left the man's throat as he tilted her face side to side. "Didn't get a good look in that alleyway, but yum. We could have some fun…When you wake up of course, sleeping beauty." He released her and she allowed her head to slump back into place, hoping the gritting of her teeth was not too apparent.

When the door had painfully scraped closed again, she let out a small breath, daring to slit one eye open. Were there cameras watching her? She had no way of knowing, except assuming that if someone had seen her wake initially, it'd have sent them coming in, and not the sound of the chains a few moments later. Unless it was a trick. But she probably posed no threat to Thaddeus Bradley and his cronies, with all his intimate knowledge of her craft and his superior attitude. She was just a slight girl with red hair, who represented a ticket for information from Daniel and the others. Information they happened to not have…

She heaved a sigh, squirming within her restraints as she thought of Daniel. He was probably angry at her for not showing…was it last night? She had no concept of time in here, but assumed she had been out a while. It felt like they'd dosed her with a horse portion. Still, Daniel and her team were smart. Very smart, and resourceful. They would figure out a way to get to her, and she would figure out a way to get herself free. Just then, an idea popped into her head, and she grinned, beginning to thrash her head about, working her hair free from the ragged side ponytail it was still held in.

* * *

Merritt was watching reruns of The Mentalist and scoffing at every line the main character uttered, Jack was closing, picking, and reclosing a padlock, and Daniel was at the window, staring down at a Bourbon Street shrouded in early morning fog with suspicion. The list of potential suspects could either be very short, or very long, and it all depended on whether this was a random act by someone like a crazed fan, which they all doubted, as Henley was a brighter crayon than many in the box; or it had been pre-meditated, was someone who held a grudge against them. Tressler? The FBI? An ex-assistant of one of them?

Merritt had finally grown weary of the, in his words, "redhead knockoff" of himself, and was flipping channels rapidly without giving it much thought. He let the television rest on a channel at random, and got up from his chair, stretching and heading to the mini bar. The voice that emanated from the screen a moment later froze everyone in the room, and they turned simultaneously to the tv. It was Thaddeus Bradley's debunking show, airing his latest episode as a live special. The topic of the evening? Escape artists.

The men in the room crowded in front of the tv at once, scrambling for the remote and raising the volume frantically.

"We fear the captivity that we lay upon other species, in zoos and cages at home and national parks with wired fences at the borders," Bradley was saying in his stage tone, pacing the small set made to look like a home library. "And so we constantly seek a way out. A way out of legal problems, our hectic daily lives, relationship issues… Some of us have mastered a way out of these, through conniving, greasy maneuvers, finding a way to slip out through the fine print. But what if we were the ones in the cage? Tonight we will observe an escape legend, considered a master of her kind, cast out of her element. Her cage is not of her own construction, she has not memorized the blueprints, the manacles are not oiled. She is not well nourished or hydrated. Can she do it?"

The camera cut abruptly to a dimly-lit room, in which a chair was faintly visible in the center. Its occupant was concealed by the lack of light. This part of the "stage" was rendered inaudible, probably because the subject was not supposed to be there…

Chains led from the wall to each side, apparently secured to the "prisoner", and appeared piled upon the person's legs. The camera panned around, keeping them concealed, until it had reached the front of the room again. The lights came on, and a theatric burst of music prompted viewers at home to gasp to themselves. The girl with chains heaped on every limb was Henley.

The remaining three horsemen met each other's eyes, and knew the first hand had been dealt.

* * *

**~Bon**


	3. Chapter 3

**I've a few things to mention. First, I'm really just going off of my own interpretation for my characters. The film, unfortunately, didn't give much in the way of backstory or development of characters and personalities, much as I loved it, and so "ic" vs "ooc" has been difficult for me to define, with these guys. I saw the film for a second time today, so I'm a little refreshed, and that has helped...Also, I'm tying in a few references from my other oneshots, though they aren't connected. Some of you might spot them. And just know I don't usually write and post this rapidly...well, ever, and I'm trying to maintain the momentum while keeping my plot details straight! Happy reading, and thank you, the response to this has been...magical, really. I own nothing! **

* * *

Just as Henley had worked her hair loose of its bindings, sending waves cascading down over one shoulder, she heard footsteps. Quickly, she bent her neck at a nearly impossible angle, fumbling in her own hair with her mouth, seeking a hairpin, of which there had to be at least one left…

She straightened just as the door opened, and a woman clad in a slinky dress, complete with four-inch heels, strutted in, carrying a clipboard and acting as if holding another human being captive were a completely everyday occurrence for her. Perhaps it was, with the company Thaddeus Bradley clearly kept. A man wearing thick glasses, overalls, and carefully toting what looked like several small cameras and a ladder entered behind the woman, immediately setting up the ladder and positioning the miniscule devices about the room, as the lady in question ran a ballpoint pen down her clipboard, nodding approvingly.

Henley folded in on herself as much as she could with the restraints in place as the weird guy with the cameras neared her, then passed, heading to install another camera behind her. Were they expecting some creepy bondage girl-on-girl action to be caught on film or something, in lieu of Henley giving them the information they wanted? She suppressed a shudder, opting instead to peer sideways warily at the woman monitoring the camera installation.

"I'm Hermia," the woman muttered by way of introduction. "And you, my dear, could have spared yourself a lot of trouble if you'd just given up your team's leader."

Henley rolled her eyes, not trusting herself to speak as she maneuvered the hairpin beneath her tongue with her teeth.

"However, you're still getting the limelight you apparently crave," Hermia continued, beginning to circle Henley absentmindedly, ducking beneath the chains that crisscrossed the room. "You're going to be a special on Thaddeus' show tonight, escape artist that you are."

Henley allowed a brow to quirk at the other woman, thinking rapidly. What was Thaddeus thinking, that he would send a message to the other Horsemen and garner some viewers while he was at it? He must have truly lost it.

Hermia was smirking unpleasantly. "You don't need details. When we give the green light, you just try to escape. Do your thing. Good luck." She snapped her fingers at the workman, leading the way out of the room. Strings of lights had been set up as well, and Henley scowled at the thought of how terrible she was going to look on-camera. It distracted her from the fact she was a victim of abduction, now being exploited as some sideshow on a knockoff Mythbusters show.

At least she was still clad in a functional outfit from when she had left the last show; a satin blazer over a thin cami, topping tight black slacks. If she could reach her boots, which had lockpicking tools Jack had lent her incorporated into their design, she might have a better chance. Just as she was surveying her outfit over again, a crackling noise filled the room. They had installed microphones and speakers, of course.

"We're well aware you have your cellphone, as well, Miss Reeves," the cool voice of Hermia intoned. "Thought we would add some theatric flair. And just so you know, audio recordings from this room will be disabled for the viewers. Only we can hear you." Another crackling noise signaled the end of the transmission, and Henley sighed in aggravation, flinging her head down for a moment as her hands squirmed and strained against her bindings again.

Another thirty minutes passed, though it could have been thirty hours as far as she knew, and Henley was beyond any frustration she had ever felt. She was literally the rabbit caught in a snare, and each time Hermia spoke, the trap seemed to tighten, strangling Henley's confidence that she would be free soon. This was very uncharacteristic of her, and she bit her lip, rattling the chains binding her ankles and wishing for a stage, a tank of water, and padlocks of her own choosing.

* * *

Abruptly, the lights went out, cloaking her in utter darkness except for the various pinpricks of red spread about the room, indicating cameras. A single lightbulb flickered to life, high in a corner of the room, and the cameraman from before appeared, with a larger camera perched on his shoulder. He pressed a button and began a circle of Henley, completing his round when the rest of the lights came back on, and he told Henley to smile for her "close-up". She slanted her eyes to the side instead, feigning boredom and nonchalance for the damned show.

The speakers crackled again, and the dramatic tones of Thaddeus Bradley filled the room, announcing her as one of the Four Horsemen, blah blah blah; apparently she was being patched into the television program, so she knew when to put on her show. It was an eerie imitation of when she performed with the Horsemen.

"And now," his faux-ominous tone continued, "She will have exactly one hour to escape her restraints completely. Without the aid of her team and very minimal resources, let's see how she does." A fanfare sounded, and a loud beeping noise. The cameraman rushed out of the room, and Henley sat there a moment, wondering if she should even attempt to cooperate and perform for Bradley's stupid show. Either way, she had to get out, so she set to work with a quiet huff of exasperation, slowly letting the hairpin stick out from her mouth as she carefully clenched her lips around the shaped metal splinter.

Closing her eyes, she really focused, rattling her ankles, knees, waist bindings, and hand restraints in careful succession. Deciding upon the waist as the weakest link, literally, she rolled her neck, readying the tendons for some serious flexing.

* * *

Daniel, control freak that he was, was cradling Jack's phone between one ear and shoulder, juggling his own and Merritt's in each hand. His rapid-fire tones, quickened further by anxiety, were proving difficult for the rental agency to understand, and he was growing annoyed, even as his fingers traversed both phones at once, manning both an app that would allow them to watch Thaddeus' show live, and a flight booking app.

Jack and Merritt were hurriedly packing; the trio was headed straight to New York on the next available flight, to Bradley's filming studio, where Henley had to be, they'd surmised. Jack had pulled out his lockpicking tool of choice, heading for the hallway to pack Henley's things as well, when Daniel appeared in his way, shaking his head gingerly so as to not dislodge the phone against his ear, proffering a phone-clenching hand and indicating he should hand _him_ the tool. Jack scoffed, shaking his head as Daniel finished the rental car order call with a terse thanks, slipping the phone from his hear and juggling the three devices easily, before handing Jack his own back.

"You're _not_ going through her stuff, Jack," Daniel muttered, eyes flipping from each phone he still held. "Now give me that and I'll do it."

"You don't even know how to use it," Jack argued, sidestepping Daniel and heading into the hall anyways. "I'll just open the door for you and spare you a trip to the lobby, jeez…"

Ten seconds later Henley's room door sprung open, despite the page-length contract they had signed, assuring them their rooms were secure as any in the country, and Jack waved Daniel in with a "ladies first", before heading back to finish loading their own gear and bringing it down to the lobby to await their rental car delivery.

Daniel heaved a sigh of relief, setting Merritt's phone aside once confirming their flight booking, and keeping the show streaming on his own even as he began to sift through Henley's possessions scattered about the room. He wasn't intending on prying, he simply felt much more secure if it were _him_ gathering up her personal things, not the other guys. Really. There was no ulterior motive past that, he told himself, an idea which flew right out the window like one of the doves they sometimes used in performances, as soon as he caught sight of the makeup compact mirror that was resting on a side table in Henley's room. It was one he had given her, years ago, as a small token of celebration after their first show together as magician and assistant, a customized Queen of Hearts insignia designed onto the backing. The sight of it halted his movements, though he didn't know why. He simply assumed she would have discarded such a token a long time ago, when their original partnership had dissolved.

Shaking his head, he scooped it into one of Henley's opened bags, along with the innumerable cosmetics, scarves, and shoes that lay around the room. As he zipper and fastened her luggage, the finality of the noises unnerved him. There should be a redhead here, packing her own belongs, shrieking in vexation at him as he absentmindedly picked up each and every possession that lay strewn about, all as he rattled off instruction after instruction for their next act. But she wasn't here, and that was on him. J. Daniel Atlas _ran_ the Horsemen; he organized venue reservations, kept them all in line with his clipped tones and remonstrations, and any and all mishaps were entirely on him, in his eyes. And this may have been his worst mistake ever, letting Henley be taken.

As if to remind him, his phone fell to the floor across the room, and as he crossed to retrieve it, he could make out Henley on the screen, maneuvering what looked like a hairpin in her mouth, and contorting grotesquely, stabbing it at the restraints across her slender waist. "That's my girl," he murmured, slipping the phone into his pocket.

Hefting her bags, he glanced around the room with regret one last time, before trudging out, the door somehow closing itself behind him with a resounding click.

* * *

It was a three-hour flight to New York, plus travel time, and Daniel was edgy. Merritt had flat-out refused to allow him to drive, after one glance at his face, an action Danny fiercely resented but saw the sense in. Still, he insisted upon the shotgun passenger seat position in the rental car, and already knew they would be fined for the scuffs upon the dashboard, as he jogged his feet up and down as Merritt drove, eyes glued to his phone again. The battery was at fifteen percent, and Jack's insistence that he was not going to lend him his phone anymore unless he charged his own finally hit, so he relinquished the device to the auxiliary power cord, his newly-unoccupied fingers now tapping incessantly upon the door paneling.

The last he had seen, Henley's waist had been free, and through _somehow_ jiggling the chair up and down, she had been working her cellphone free from its hiding place in her neckline. He'd like to think he had politely averted his eyes at that point, but in reality, he had watched that part avidly, as he was sure many viewers had. The protective urges he had over Henley were driving him up the wall as the situation progressed, and despite escaping being her forte, he despised seeing her essentially caged like an animal; she'd been abducted, after all, a fact he was sure few people knew. Would Thaddeus Bradley have even a fraction of his viewers if they knew to what lengths he would go to sate his appetite for destruction of the art of magic?

The episode was only slated to be an hour long, and minus commercial breaks…And what would happen to Henley if she didn't make the deadline? They didn't even know what Bradley wanted with her. Daniel had tried his production office several times, and each time he had asked for the man, a smug secretary or annoyed underling had refused to put his call through. It seemed Bradley _wanted_ some sort of confrontation, and he was going to get it.

* * *

**You guys are amazing. ~Bon**


	4. Chapter 4

**Switching it up a bit, with some background chapters laying the foundation for different plot twists later on. thanks for reading, guys. This has been an amazing ride only two days in!**

* * *

A fierce rapping on the studio's door sent an assistant running apologetically to Thaddeus Bradley's side, wincing as the man gestured angrily to cut to a commercial break, before turning to the nervous young man. "What is it?"

"Sir, the FBI is here, at the door. They'd like to speak to you."

"Lovely." At a clap of Bradley's hands, his crew scattered, and he took a moment to adjust his fedora in a nearby mirror, before nodding for the assistant to lead the way. Indeed, as he approached, a furious rapping was sounding on the glass lobby doors, and Bradley resisted an eye roll. That laughingstock agent again, no doubt, with his pretty French arm candy who'd probably never even passed under a loop of crime tape to investigate a scene _yet._

Lazily hitting a few keys and waiting for the beep of acceptance of his entry code and ensuing automatic opening of the high-tech doors, Thaddeus folded his arms, feigning a casual air and hiding a smile as Agent Rhodes toppled into the building, pressed as he had been against the doors. The visitor in question cleared his throat, straightening his coat and glancing behind him to make certain Agent Dray had followed him in, which she had, much less clumsily. He then nodded a greeting to Bradley. "Mind if we have a little chat about tonight's episode, Thaddeus?"

Bradley glanced at his watch. "We're only halfway there, Agent Rhodes, isn't this a little premature?" But he waved them after him as he started down the hallway leading to his office. Once everyone was inside and the agents had been waved to chairs, he remained standing, leaning against his desk and playing idly with a rubiks cube he picked up from the glossy surface. "What can I do for you?"

"We would like to speak to your guest tonight, Mr. Bradley," agent Dray began, ignoring the miffed look Rhodes sent her that she had taken control.

Rhodes cut in. "We have some important questions for her concerning the sudden emptying of Mr. Arthur Tressler's bank account."

"I'm afraid that's impossible, Agents." At their blank looks, Bradley grinned, setting the rubiks cube down and rubbing his hands together slowly, awaiting the next dumb statement that would inevitably come from Agent Rhodes.

"We do get television at the office, Mr. Bradley," the male agent began in a sardonic tone. "We can clearly see the Horseman Henley on your sound stage or whatever."

"Ah, but she isn't here. In fact, I've no idea where the charming lady is. You see, I don't have a guest tonight, per se. Rather, I have some guest footage that is being streamed to me live, and subsequently aired." He could envision the palm-to-the-face Rhodes was mentally giving himself.

"Could you explain a little more, Mr. Bradley, about where this is coming from and from who?" Dray took over again, a delicate brow arched as she questioned further.

"Well, I received an anonymous email asking me if I would enjoy reaping the benefits of a high-ratings episode that was guaranteed to garner viewers. Naturally, I was interested, and this person sent me everything I needed, assuring me the footage I needed would be streamed at the right time. I simply wrote up myself an opening monologue and some other tidbits, and the show went on. Is going on." He corrected, eyeing the wall clock again. Only five minutes had passed, and hopefully the show had ended commercials smoothly, with some guest narration to fill in his absence.

A minute or two of silence followed, and he had to stifle a bark of laughter at the look on Dylan Rhodes' face. He decided to throw him a bone. "You're welcome to examine our green room, agents, if you'll allow me to get back to my _live_ show." At their mute nods, he snapped his fingers, and another assistant appeared to lead them away. Releasing a quiet sigh, Thaddeus Bradley straightened his hat again, striding briskly back to the airing control center.

* * *

Sometime later, Dylan Rhodes was nodding in resignation, uttering a thanks to the agent who had called him, confirming the signal that was airing Henley's footage was pinging off of several foreign countries, and tracking it had been met with a digital dead end. Even Agent Dray uttered a low "Merde" in frustration, and it was back to the drawing board. It _appeared _Bradley had no involvement in the Horseman abruptly appearing on his show to have her reputation destroyed, and almost certainly not by choice.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, as always ~Bon**


	5. Chapter 5

**Moving right along, I decided to delve into how Danny and Henley met. Flashbacks are fun, and there will be more.**

* * *

_Daniel and Henley had met through the accidental machinations of a mutual friend, at a birthday party, actually. The birthday party of a ten-year old girl, whom Daniel was posing as a clown for. Complete with wig, polka-dotted ruffle-trimmed onesie, and comically-elongated shoes. The great J. Daniel Atlas had started as a party clown, though he would admit that to no one. Henley, on the other hand, had been the actual magician booked for the party, another fact he would never admit. _

_While he was at it, he also would never let on that she had looked amazing, clad in tight black slacks, a creamy silk blouse with a tight vest that appeared painted over her curves, and simple converse sneakers. A black fedora jauntily perched atop her flaming red hair completed the look, and he was staring more at her than the tricks she performed all evening. They were pretty basic, meant to impress the children, but her grand finale impressed everyone on the property, when she appeared to fold herself into a box with dimensions of about one foot by one foot, and then appeared in the middle of the swimming pool. _

_He had dropped the balloon giraffe he'd been making when she rose from the water, dripping wet, her hair hanging in soaked crimson clumps across her shoulders, clothes clinging like a second skin, and a beatific smile across her face. She shrieked an excited "Ta-da!" and the kids went crazy, milling around her like mice who've found a chunk of cheese. _

_He later found out three different fathers at the party had cornered her when the party was over, eyes darting around nervously as they offered exorbitant sums for her to perform at their respective children's parties as well, "on behalf of the children's excitement", they had declared. Right._

_When she had strutted past him, rubbing a towel absently at her damp hair as she sought her bosses for this party, and her paycheck, she'd grinned and nodded in greeting at him. "Nice wig, but I think I might wear the ginger locks a little better than you." Slackjawed, he had slowly raised a hand to the cherry-red afro wig he'd been wearing, pulling it off as he turned and walking straight into a telephone pole. He'd like to think he'd mastered a calmer exterior by now._

_At a traffic light later that night, Henley had appeared, pulling up next to him in a sleek convertible, gesturing for him to roll his window down. "I appreciate the offer, and I'd love to be partners," she told him. "You've got my number."_

_He happened to glance at his passenger seat, and a business card that had not been there a moment ago now was resting on the upholstery, Henley Reeves printed in all-caps font across the front. He absentmindedly noted the screeching of tires, indicating she was gone. She had floored him with her intuition so much that he didn't notice the light turn green, and there was a backup down the road for a few moments, horns blaring and drivers flipping him off frantically, until he snapped out of it and hit the gas._

* * *

"Daniel. Danny. Atlas. Danny. DANIEL." An annoying voice and a finger stabbing into his sternum awoke Danny from a restless nap, and he blinked groggily, staring down at the finger, and regretfully tracing its origin to Merritt, who had a wide grin splitting his face.

"Nice dream?" Merritt asked, resuming the rolling of a tennis ball up and down his arm, effortlessly defying gravity with the casual movements.

Daniel groaned inwardly, mind racing as he wondered if he'd talked in his sleep, or moaned, or…Something.

"Oh, yep, I've had that sort too. Good stress release, that kind." Merritt had read something in his expression that spelled affirmation, and was wiggling his eyebrows furiously; Daniel rubbed a hand across his eyes, taking a deep breath before leaning across Merritt to Jack. "Are we close?"

The master pickpocket blinked as if startled, finally locking a sheepish expression with Daniel's own. "Uh, I think so. I mean, I was sorta checking out the flight attendant lady instead of listening to her. D'you think they translate those oxygen mask mock-inhalation skills to other areas-" He was cut off by Danny's exasperated sigh, who flagged down the lady in question, ascertaining that they would be on the ground in New York in about thirty minutes. It was too long, too long to wait while Henley was in Bradley's slimy grasp, and Merritt and Jack didn't seem to see the danger...But the Horsemen had never attempted teleportation at that distance…Danny opened his phone with a click, quickly entering a note to look into that when this was all over, ignoring the other guys' declarations that they could do nothing while in the air except calm themselves for what was to come.

They had booked a town car to be waiting for them at the airport, and they had booked first-class and so were the first ones off the plane, Daniel insisting upon going first, of course, and he nearly tripped on the tarmac as he rushed. Within five minutes, they and their luggage were seated and stowed, and the driver had been instructed to break all speeding laws and get them to Thaddeus Bradley's broadcasting studio as soon as possible.

* * *

Henley would have appreciated the challenge her situation represented, in any other safely-controlled, variables-accounted-for environment.

As it stood, she was sweating, her makeup probably completely eradicated from the night before by now, and she may have been willing to sell her soul for a shower, and a moment alone with Danny. Maybe both at the same time. And maybe she was delirious, the anxiety, fatigue, hunger, and dehydration finally taking their collective toll.

She was also angry as hell. Having painstakingly dislodged her phone from its resting place down her shirt, she had managed to bend a knee enough to bring it to one elbow, which she could twist just enough to hit the button that would wake the device. Which didn't work, and now that she thought about it, it had made the dull beeping noise that signaled nearly-dead battery, an hour ago. Viewers were probably laughing their asses off when they realized what was going on.

But her waist and knees were now free, though she was probably going to be seeing a chiropractor for months, seeing as she had performed twists the human body was never remotely designed for, in her escape attempt. The bright timer they'd placed upon the wall assuaged no fears, as the neon red numbers ticked steadily downwards. They now showed her as having twenty minutes remaining, and she had her feet and each hand to go.

Taking another deep breath, wishing in the back of her mind that she had found a way to keep her hair bound, she blew her bangs out of her face again, careful not to dislodge the hairpin, which had come to represent freedom, from her teeth. With a glance from side to side, gauging how much the lack of slack was about to injure her wrists, she flung her weight backwards, toppling the chair onto its back, while her hands remained awkwardly suspended by the restrictive chains.

Stretching her torso upwards, she was grateful for gravity for once, that age-old enemy of her trade, as it allowed her feet a little more momentum in sliding towards her chest. Tears filled her eyes at the pain in her wrists, one of which had made a popping noise when she'd flipped back, but she blinked furiously, breathing shallowly through her nose as she angled the hairpin into the menacingly-large padlock trapping her ankles. At least the size made a larger target for her clumsy poking, blindly aiming as she was with her mouth.

Praising the heavens for the durability of the expensive brand she employed for hair accessories, she closed her eyes in relief for a few seconds as an optimistic click signaled she'd gotten it. The tension around her ankles immediately loosened, and now all that remained was to shimmy the knots out of the chain, which was of course easier said than done. Still, she had completed sixty percent of her escape, give or take, and Bradley was probably not too happy that her abilities were leaning towards the credible side, on the road to ruining tonight's episode. She had no clue what would happen to her next; perhaps their instructors were watching, and would negotiate with Bradley for her release. Would her capture ruin her chances of joining The Eye? She hadn't considered that until now, and she couldn't dwell on that pessimistic thought now.

Pulling the chains on her hands taut for leverage, she prepared to flip the rickety chair upright again, hoping it would hold out until her feet were free.

* * *

This was sort of like Seattle, Daniel was thinking to himself, as his eyes drank in the scene he was now watching belatedly, as the show had "ended" during the early stages of their flight. Henley had opened a show of his with a solo escape act, wherein she had completed a simpler version of this situation, except it had involved silk scarves that were designed to basically untie themselves, a much tinier and revealing outfit, and her own free will, of course.

He couldn't calm himself, and the phone screen jiggled with every twitch of his fingers. What if Bradley had moved her, or hurt her, or worse? What was it he wanted? When Henley's face contorted in pain at the actions she completed to get her ankles free, Danny's heart broke; she had never once been injured while working with him, in rehearsals or otherwise. He'd always had everything planned out perfectly.

* * *

"Folks, it may have been a brave try, and Miss Reeves certainly is a few steps above many others in her trade, but as we can see, her 'magic'," and here Thaddeus Bradley inserted air quotes to accompany his condescending tone, "is not infallible. She was given a normal time limit for someone of her 'talent'," more air quotes, "Normal amount of restraints in the normal places, and she could not escape. Is this what you have paid good money to watch, a fake? All the tricks she performed recently as a part of The Four Horsemen will soon be uncovered for you, in my next special. Rest assured. Until next time." The red light on the camera blinked twice and went out, signaling the end of the show and the credits would be rolling. Bradley rolled his shoulders, accepting the tumbler of whiskey a crew member quickly brought to him, and he signaled for Nate, his bodyguard and Henley's abductor, to walk with him.

"She's hopefully been useful tonight," Bradley murmured, taking a sip of whiskey and swishing the contents of his glass as he mused. "Preliminary ratings were nearly off the charts. But we've got to move her, keep a step ahead of them as we have been all this time. I _need_ to know who is pulling the strings, Nate. Has anyone contacted the studio?"

Nate shook his head. "Several fanboys asking if they could, well, have a go at_ tying her up_, a few harmless follow-up questions from the FBI, and several hilariously-frantic calls from Atlas, which we dealt with as you requested."

Bradley slammed his now-empty glass down on a side table, and the bodyguard quirked a brow. The boss was really losing it over this magic thing. But, he supposed, if you'd spent decades of your life pursuing a mission like his, it'd piss him off too. And every captain needed his white whale to pursue, but catching this one would bring a greater satisfaction than all the viewers in the world tuning in.

* * *

**thanks, as always. ~Bon**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys. This would have been up like eighteen hours ago, but the site's upload page was malfunctioning, just so you know. And, you'll get two chapters today because of the technical difficulties.**

**So, anyone else like the idea of a Dylan/Alma fic? I'm feeling it, hard. **

**Also, received a suggestion to have Thaddeus capture/debunk the other Horsemen. I'm not sure it would fit the vibe of the story and what I have planned out, but _brilliant _idea, user DaniellePayne609 , and it may very well be used in another fic.  
**

**Thank you guys, and, onward!**

* * *

It was nearing midnight, and Thaddeus Bradley was locking up his studio, which boasted of the most and highest-class security of any building in Queens, each door needing ten-digit codes, his personal fingerprint, and motion detectors were everywhere. Still, he was counting on a break-in tonight.

Pressing a button on his key fob to alert the property's bordering fence to electrify for night, Bradley whistled a tune on the way to his range rover, a spring in his step. Everything was going according to plan; he was still several steps ahead of the Horsemen, he was certain of it. Nate should be well on his way back to Vegas; the man had been a trooper, traveling to and from as rapidly as Bradley's private jet could afford, dumping the girl and now retrieving her again. At least the professional debunker had not lied; she hadn't been anywhere near the studio, and her struggle _was_ being streamed from an outside system…

As he was rounding the corner to reach his mansion just outside the city limits, as if on cue, Bradley's dashboard console lit up like the Fourth of July with alerts and a loud beeping noise. The alarms were disabled at the studio. He smiled to himself, hitting "decline" where the screen prompted him to alert the authorities, and pulled into his driveway.

* * *

The studio had been a complete bust, and the Horsemen were dismayed to say the least. Standing in the middle of Bradley's private office, they had been met with a fancy card sitting on the desk's surface. "Intermission", it read. Without any notice, Bradley's computer screen had wakened from sleep mode, displaying a video player with a clip apparently ready to play. Jack approached it cautiously, finally tapping a key, and Thaddeus Bradley appeared.

"I think you had better consider a new name, first and foremost," the man began, smiling widely, with a creepy gleam in his eye. "Maybe the Three Losers? Face it, I've been ahead of you this whole time, and you thought maybe you'd caught up, and were going to find the girl here? She's being very well hidden, until you give me what I wanted from her, and now you. Your puppeteer, that's all. No strings attached," here he chuckled to himself, "I just want the name and I'll release her. Until my secretaries come to me with a name on a piece of paper taken from a message you leave with them, I'm afraid you won't enjoy the tricks I have up my sleeve." With that, the video ended.

"I mean, is he going for a Guinness record of highest amount of cheesy magic puns in one lame monologue, or what?" Jack was shaking his head, seating himself in Bradley's plush desk chair, swiveling himself around a couple times before he pulled himself close to the screen, beginning to type. A moment and a few more clicks had him pulling up Bradley's email, something he likely hadn't seen coming.

"Take a look at this," Jack was pointing at the screen excitedly. Daniel and Merritt leaned in on either side, peering at the specific email he had selected. It was a ticket purchase confirmation, for one Nate Matthews, to Vegas.

"Who…" Merritt was frowning, and Daniel quickly filled in the blanks. "That's Bradley's bodyguard, remember, we offered Bradley the free admission to the Savoy show, and he asked so _nicely_ for one for his lady assistant and this guy?"

As Merritt nodded in remembrance, Jack's head jerked between Merritt and Daniel, gauging their expressions and grinning slyly. "Looks here like he's got the flight site bookmarked, and a credit card on record…Whaddaya say to a trip to Vegas on Bradley, guys?"

* * *

Special Agent Dylan Rhodes was trying hard to get comfortable, but between the cramped quarters of an American Airline plane cabin, the thoughts racing through his mind, and the unsettling presence of Alma Dray beside him, it was proving impossible. No, it wasn't that _she_ was unsettling, or unpleasant to be around, it was more that Alma Dray was a wildcard. She was keeping him on his toes, proving far more intuitive than he would have expected, and he could _feel_ jeopardy creeping up on his grand plan. She could ruin everything, if he didn't keep his head in the game. Thaddeus Bradley had already hit the ball out of left field, a move that had been anticipated in a back corner of his mind, but never completely prepared for. And now he was on _another_ damn plane where he was at a loss to control the variables, stuck begging the stewardess to keep the mini bottles of Jack Daniels coming, until they reached Vegas again.

He'd known Thaddeus Bradley had played a role in Henley abruptly appearing on his show looking none to pleased to be there, but he could prove nothing until he found her, and evidence supporting Bradley had taken her. It was a personal offense to Rhodes that one of his Horsemen had been plucked from the street like a flyer for a musical, as he had found out after an interview with a homeless man, high as a kite, who had somehow been the only witness to the threatening and subsequent abduction of the slight woman. But he had to hide that fact for now, and focus on what he had garnered from the bug he had privately placed in Bradley's office, pretending to Dray that they had to return to Vegas and the scene of the original heist, to search for more evidence that would indicate the Horsemen's next move. She'd raised a brow at his announcement, but insisted upon accompanying him, as he had expected.

And Dray was at it again, the cute junior magic trick attempts, and he had to feign disinterest, that he was only humoring her when he picked a card or a number in his head, had to feign that he didn't find it completely adorable every time her face lit up with glee that she had succeeded with another Card Tricks 101 move.

It was going to be a long flight.

* * *

Elsewhere, Merritt was having a great time examining every inch of his face for flaws, of which he found absolutely none, as expected. Grinning, he leaned back in his second first-class flight seat of the day, and closed the compact of Henley's he had been using, running his fingers over the card patterned onto the lid. If they were going to pay their next three months' rent in frees to bring her luggage along everywhere they went, he was going to use that to his advantage. And he was learning a lot from just her stuff. And, wait for it…In three, two, one-

"Hey. Hey, put that back! Merritt, no, I know what you're doing, and you're not going to mentalize her stuff, that's an invasion of privacy, _you _are an invader of privacy and Henley is not here to speak for herself and I'm not going to permit you to just fondle all of her stuff-"

"-Well, these things are a paltry comparison fondle-wise to the girl herself anyways-"

"_What_ did you just-"

Their bickering was interrupted when the compact disappeared from Merritt's grasp and he squawked indignantly, lunging in Jack's direction. "_Gimme_ that back, it's my in-flight reading material!" The pickpocket rolled his eyes, shoving the accessory back in the overhead compartment and retaking his seat. "Really, it's like we've all retreated to the first grade."

"I resent that comment, in first grade I was class president and everyone fought to be able to give me their desserts every lunchtime because I was the most eloquent, charismatic child and also I could pull rabbits out of hats-"

"Shut up, Atlas."

"Maybe if you would stop molesting every personal possession of everyone on the plane with the sole exception of yourself-"

They were interrupted squarely with the dulcet tones of their stewardess, announcing that they were halfway through the flight to Las Vegas, and the weather would be refreshingly breezy when they landed around three in the morning. Danny abruptly excused himself, heading for the restroom.

The remaining Horsemen looked at each other, wondering how on earth they would survive that long.

* * *

Daniel banged the lavatory door shut with a ragged sigh, leaning against it. The cramped space could probably fit three times within a broom closet, and wasn't exactly a refuge of solitude, but it would have to do. The rest of his team had to be in denial that Henley was in danger, acting so nonchalant as they were. His mind was racing as he moved to brace his hands against the miniscule sink counter, staring at himself in the mirror.

Always be the smartest guy in the room, always be the smartest guy in the room. It was the number one rule, and he was breaking it by allowing himself the emotional investment, allowing it to dictate his actions. He had to take a step back. Thaddeus Bradley was probably not looking for jail time as a result of these actions, he wouldn't actually hurt Henley – would he?

Glancing down at his wrist, he spotted the deactivated tracking device he insisted the whole team wear. Henley's had been offline since she was taken, of course, to their chagrin. Everyone thought he was such a control freak to employee such measures and yet, he felt justified, now. And this method had not even begun with him, it had been Henley's idea, years ago.

* * *

Their first shows together had been haphazard at first, booked at any venue that would have them, some in the seediest parts of town. The act had been advertised as "The World Atlas," a title that now made Danny cringe with regret, and feign complete ignorance of. He and Henley had performed various tricks with falsified exotic themes, mainly to make the name work, and secretly to force Henley into several interestingly-varied costumes.

At one point she'd been in little more than a bronze bikini top and a three-inch long gold silk skirt, embellishing a sleight of hand maneuver that Danny would claim was a trick passed along from pharaoh to pharaoh. The memory of that costume, and the fact that he had ever persuaded the fiery Henley to don it, brought a smile to Danny's face even now.

During their early shows, without a large crew, security had been thin, at best. One night after a performance, a timid knocking on Danny's door had revealed a visibly-shaken Henley, holding an empty can of pepper spray that threatened to fall from limp fingers. He'd made some feeble joke about hoping that wasn't for him, and tears had filled her eyes, and he'd cut off his own statement, ushering her inside.

When she had left the venue through the back door, sometime after him, as she'd had makeup and an elaborate costume to remove, someone had been waiting. A crazed fan who had apparently really wanted to saw her in half or something, because she'd been grabbed right as she walked out the door, and slammed into a wall, the man covering her mouth. Flexible as she was, she'd managed to reach a can of pepper spray from within her bag and get him right in the eyes, before running to the next well-lit street.

Henley never cried, but silent sobs were wracking her thin shoulders by the time she'd croaked out the story, seated on Danny's hotel room couch, and he rushed to comfort her, sitting beside her and coaxing her face against his shoulder. Not wanting to embarrass her beyond that, he simply waited, and when she raised her face again, clearing her throat carefully, it was with a proposal that they find some space in their meager budget for some safety.

They began with bracelets just on each other, and their sole security guard holding the tracker, until Danny's paranoia and megalomania had increased to the point that they recruited a larger team, and he kept the device himself at all times, watching it closely. It was never mentioned that Henley had pushed for the seemingly-extreme measure, and Danny had taken the "credit" and fallout on himself ever since.

* * *

When the timer had gone off, Henley was simultaneously panicked, annoyed and disappointed with herself, and curious what would happen next. She had not managed to free her hands, and the lights went out completely, startling her and freezing her actions. When the lights came back on, they were accompanied by the rusty door's protestations, and the cameraman from before had entered, three other men accompanying him, and a handkerchief occupying his hand.

Seeing it, Henley had begun to thrash and shriek in her restraints, but the man's companions had each grabbed hold of her, stilling her, and allowing him to hold the drugged strip of material against her mouth and nose. Feeling an extreme sense of déjà vu, Henley had fought until her limbs refused to cooperate further, regretfully falling into unconsciousness once more.

The men worked quickly, unchaining her and tossing the metal aside, lifting her together and bringing her outside under the cover of night, out to a van that Hermia stood outside of.

"Put her in the back, and be quick about it," were their instructions, and they complied.

* * *

Sometime later Henley awoke with her second migraine in as many days, to the sight of a ceiling fan spinning lazily above her. Blinking, she swung herself into a sitting position, regretting the movement immediately when her head spun and nausea threatened to overtake her.

Seeking a reprieve, she stared down at the bedspread she was sprawled across, hoping the calm floral pattern would ease the aftereffects of the damn chloroform she was now all too familiar with. Dimly, she noted a pile of clothes next to her. And the throbbing pain emanating from her wrist that she'd damaged in her attempts to get free. A voice startled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Hermia, Bradley's assistant bitch, standing above her holding a gun with one hand, gesturing to a doorway behind her with the other.

"You've got fifteen minutes to get showered and dressed. This is a courtesy I'm solely offering as woman to woman, as you probably don't feel too fresh right now. And any funny business or magic tricks, and I'll shoot you in the foot."

* * *

**Until next time! ~Bon**


	7. Chapter 7

**As promised! Anyone else feel like seeing the movie a third time? Concession stand's on me! **

* * *

The clothes were at least a size too big, Henley noted, pulling on a dark pair of leggings and a thin black cami, her wet hair pulled into a knot on the top of her head; did the _entire_ world think she was fat? Grumbling to herself, she pulled on her own boots, wishing again that they hadn't taken her gloves. She was _never_ without gloves, they were her trademark style, and she felt completely naked when she lacked even those miniscule scraps of leather. They came in handy in the most unexpected ways, and so she endured all ridicule the boys sent her way, usually responding with a simple leather-clad finger flipping them off. A small smile crossed her face as she remembered their theft of the French bank's money, before the trick in Vegas.

* * *

"Kind of claustrophobic in here, huh?"

"Not nearly enough that you need to have every limb pressed against mine, Danny."

"We're in a secret compartment in the bed of an armored truck Henley, do you really think they laid out the schematics while allowing for a girl and a super-tall, super-masculine, super-buff master of illusion to hypothetically hide out beneath-"

"If that's the kind of man they designed this crawlspace for, I don't think you meet the height requirements to be in here, just like that one carnival ride-"

"-Sasquatch wouldn't fit the safety height requirements for that thing, okay?"

Danny's hip was pressed against Henley's as they lay side by side in the cramped quarters, and the escape artist was having a hell of a time trying to ignore that, and every other point of contact between them. Not to mention in trying to heave herself away from him, she'd only succeeded in losing the comfortable position she'd originally been in, and then she lost her balance as she rose up on her elbows, and promptly fell onto Danny's chest.

"_Ow,_ did you put all of your weight onto that elbow in my ribs-"

"Don't _even_ start, you shouldn't even be in here, you big lug-"

At that precise moment, second the back door of the truck opened, and the accompanying guards took their seats in the back, while a couple others loaded the millions of Euros with the help of a ramp. It wasn't worth the risk of discovery to readjust themselves, and Henley soaked in silent mortification as she lay there, undignified, sprawled across J. Daniel Atlas' chest, trying not to enjoy the sensation of him taking breaths beneath her.

And here they were, breathing as shallowly and quietly as possible, listening to the Frenchmen joke and complain to one another, Henley gritting her teeth, eyes closed, as she tried to ignore Danny's face a scant five inches from her own.

When the truck screeched to a halt, they waited for the scraping noise that would signal the opening of the back doors, setting to their tasks as scheduled. When the guards were knocked out, the Horsemen set about grabbing the packages of newly-minted bills and stuffing them into burlap sacks they'd brought. But the currency was wrapped in tight-fitting sheets of plastic packaging, and Danny was having trouble grabbing any of it, the money falling out of his hands as he snatched at it.

"See how handy these are?" Henley wagged her glove-clad hands in the air, which had no problem gripping the material, huffing annoyedly and shoving the rest of the money into bags herself, while Danny scoffed and shook his head, jumping out the back of the truck to ensure no one was around to see the shady traffic stop.

* * *

She was pulled from her pleasant thoughts by the loud banging of a door, and Hermia hurriedly shushing whoever it was. Something twitched in the back of Henley's mind, and a feeling of unease took over, urging her to look about the room quickly for an escape route. There was none, of course, the cheap room not even having a window in it, and she felt like a caged rat, bracing herself as the connecting door to the bathroom opened, revealing the brute who had grabbed her what seemed like a century ago.

Henley shivered involuntarily, backing up a step, feeling a vulnerability that she hadn't experienced in years, rear its ugly head.

"C'mon princess, we've got places to go and names to divulge," Bradley's henchman rumbled, stepping right into her personal space; he was over a foot taller than her, and she was afraid to look up and meet that menacing leer.

"Come along quietly, or I'll give you another nap," he was saying, and she swallowed, raising her head haughtily and nodding. "Lead the way, big guy."

"No, I'd rather have a hold on you," he grinned, and in a second those bulging arms were throwing her over his shoulder, eliciting a squawk from Henley's lips. "Shut up, licorice-hair."

Henley was torn between disbelief in the ridiculous nickname, panic that he was swinging her around like a toy, and extreme annoyance at this guy's arrogance. But she kept quiet, closing her eyes against the dizziness that overcame her as she swung over his shoulder. He took her out of the room and down the hall, without any other soul in sight – Bradley must have bought out this whole floor of suites or something – before finally ending at a room with an identical door that opened as they reached it. Some other henchman nodded as they passed him in the entryway, and he muttered something into a walkie-talkie as he left, heading back down the hallway.

She was dumped like a bag of trash on a bed inside the room, and she retreated against the headboard, curling her knees up against her chest as she watched the man warily. He was already on a cellphone, muttering "yes" and "got it" every few seconds, pacing in front of the bed.

"I'll make sure she knows nothing, and hopefully with minimal mess." He winked at her as he ended the call, at slackjawed expression of horror that she masked as quickly as she could.

"Now, sweetheart, we're gonna play a game. Kinda like twenty questions meets spin the bottle. I'm gonna ask you questions, and for every answer you can't give, there's gonna be a different punishment."

At the implication of pain, Henley grabbed her wounded wrist lightly in her other hand, rubbing it gently as she glared defiantly. "I don't know who guides us, and I wouldn't tell you even if I did. Is Bradley willing to go to jail for abduction and murder, for one name?"

He responded with a chuckle that chilled her. "He debunks magicians, illusionists, and top hat-clad idiots for a living, and has for decades. You don't think he can make you vanish for _real_, little girl?"

At her silence, he cracked his knuckles loudly, the sound penetrating every corner of the room. Suddenly the door opened, revealing Hermia, who held a tablet in her hand that she was swiping at furiously.

"Haven't started, have you, Nate?" She asked distractedly, taking a seat in a plush armchair on the far side of the room.

"Nope. But she's given her first wrong answer." And suddenly he was on Henley, twisting her already-injured wrist with a fierce movement, and she felt something crack as her eyes filled with tears, pain rendering her too breathless to do anything but gasp.

Hermia, one leg crossed over the other, high-heeled foot swinging lightly as she watched, seemed to cringe, quickly smoothing her expression as she tapped something on her screen.

"Is it Atlas, after all? Just tell us, and we'll make it easy on him. I know you'd like that," Nate asked, releasing her broken wrist and stepping back coolly, adjusting his shirt cuffs.

"Maybe…it's your mom?" Henley ground out, uncertain if she should cradle her wrist or hold it aloft to elevate it, or grab a lamp and swing at him with her good arm.

"I'd love to see you try to escape _anything_ with another broken wrist, licorice-hair, and maybe some blood loss," the burly man crooned, pulling out a small blade that even Hermia, in her corner, blanched at the sight of. "But maybe I can help you out, change your look a little so that your destroyed reputation can begin anew as someone else? Maybe the two-faced woman or something." He stood, brandishing the small blade, and Henley swallowed, meeting his gaze steadily with her own pain-filled one.

* * *

"The son of a bitch's ratings and viewer counts are _way_ up," Jack mumbled disappointedly, hitting the sleep button on his phone and stuffing it back into his leather jacket's pocket. "According to his twitter. But his twitter _also_ claims he himself is on his way to Vegas, too, to debunk our first act properly. Probably using a private jet, hiding his tracks."

"Doesn't matter, he's an idiot and he's going to find himself seven steps behind in as many hours," Danny muttered distractedly, typing furiously on his own phone. "Whoops, if not less." He held up his phone, where the screen displayed an email whose sender they recognized as their boss. They'd always employed a cryptic email address, never using the same more than once, but certain patterns in the speech within the messages showed it was them. And this latest one revealed a way to hack Bradley's phone and find out what was being done with Henley.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Thaddeus Bradley frowned down at his phone, opening what looked like an email from Hermia, but was completely blank, except for a few miscellaneous keyboard symbols. She'd probably hit a wrong button on her phone, as she was usually juggling several gadgets at once. Shrugging lightly, he sent the message to the junk folder in his email app, switching screens to check a text message from her. "Not cooperating." Lovely.

Sighing, he glanced at the doors he was passing, walking down the hallway in the hotel whose entire top two floors he had booked for the next few days, claiming he had work to do, and the staff had even given him a generous discount. When he reached the right door, he swiped a card quickly, wrenching the door open and striding in without announcement.

Gesturing lazily for Nate to halt where he stood, which was a foot from their prisoner, Thaddeus crossed to Hermia. "Anything? Anything at all?"

She shook her head. "The remaining Horsemen have not contacted us with anything at all." She kept her reply short, suspecting as she was that every single male cohort of hers was criminally insane at this point. She had not signed up for this, but she was afraid she was in too deep already.

"We aren't getting anything this way." The ringing of Bradley's cell phone broke in, and he answered it tersely. "Yes? What? _Here? This building? _Well, _stall¸ _damn it!" He whipped around. "Nate, grab her. Get her to the car, and in the cage. Take an emergency exit or something so you won't be seen, and shut her up. They're here, and the welcome mat isn't laid out yet."

As his bodyguard rushed to comply, snatching up the girl who was now moaning in pain, Thaddeus noticed an odd flickering on the screen of his phone. Frowning, he shook it, and suddenly froze, starting to laugh. They had pulled this stunt on the idiot FBI agent; that was why you never re-used tricks. He re-pocketed the phone after sending a few text messages, smiling as he left the hotel room.

* * *

**Next chapter is being worked on! ~Bon**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi guys! A lot happening simultaneously in this chapter, and some time jumps, as I try to tie up some loose plot ends and things. See if you can spot the hint that will lead to Henley's escape. I've also done another rendition of Henley leaving Danny, bringing in another flashback for some useful backstory, as we near the end! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"All roads lead to Vegas. Didn't someone say that once?" Merritt was saying, stretching his arms leisurely above his head as they crossed the parking garage of the pyramid-shaped Luxor Hotel, on the Las Vegas strip.

"Yeah, someone in a gambling addiction support group," Danny supplied, checking the room number they had garnered from tracking Bradley. They had intercepted a text message from twenty minutes ago between Bradley and the bodyguard Nate, making certain their "guest" was in room 1777 as discussed, and saying he was on his way; the irony of the magical numerology was not lost on the Horsemen, who had immediately headed for the Luxor.

"Hold up…there's a voicemail." Danny was frowning down at his phone, and the other two crowded around the tiny screen to strain to hear the speakerphone setting, which showed a message sent to Bradley's bodyguard. "Vegas. As close to the motherland of magic as anything, Horsemen, unless we get into technicalities, in which case we'd be in Egypt." The boys were already shifting uneasily, looking over their shoulders as they listened. He knew. "But in the interest of convenience, I've found the next best thing – a pyramid-shaped casino, I knew you'd appreciate the exotic locale. Unfortunately, what you're looking for has been moved, and I think your benefactor is going to love my final act. Meet us at the Gallina Resort in Las Vegas Bay after dark, and make sure they come." The message cut out, with Bradley's voice full of smugness.

* * *

Rhodes was visibly agitated, closeted in his office at the bureau, where he'd been ever since he and Alma had landed in Vegas. Masking his computer activity with several firewalls and guiltily planting a small virus in the office's network to keep them busy, he'd monitored the backdoor he'd given his Horsemen to discover what Bradley was up to, but it was backfiring. Raking a hand through his hair, he began to comb through traffic cams, police blotter reports, rental car agency emails, anything he could think of to track Thaddeus Bradley's next move. Dylan was never this many steps behind, and he regretted so much of his plan a this point, and rued the fact that he had to maintain this pretense of being an agent of the law. He had come too far to back down, though, and he was going to fix this. Maybe his anonymity would be ruined in the process, but Bradley was definitely going down, on at least three separate charges, as things stood.

He hoped that the persuasive phone call he'd placed to Bradley's bodyguard, under the pretense of a wrong number, had worked. Merritt was not the only man who employed mentalism. But realistically, if this haphazard plan he'd cobbled together worked, his Horsemen would deserve initiation the moment Henley was safe again, no third act needed…

A small beep alerted him to the receipt of the voicemail the Horsemen had just tapped into, and he plugged in some headphones, frowning. Bradley seemed to think he knew who was directing the group of illusionists, and was having them meet him at a watery location…And given the show he had put on with Henley…Dylan hoped he was wrong about the new theory developing in the back of his mind, but he sent a quick email to the Horsemen anyways, and put a call through to the Park Ranger service in Las Vegas bay as well. Then he sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers, and wishing he hadn't finished the last bottle of whiskey that had been stashed in his desk.

* * *

Henley's forearm was swollen to at least three times its size, the skin mottled with purple and red bruising. And she was locked in a cage that looked to have been built for a dog. Chained like one. And the SUV she was stuck in the back had just taken an extremely sharp turn, flinging her against the side of cage and probably birthing a magnificent bruise along her other arm. She was not having a good day.

"What the hell was that for?!" An indignant man sitting in the passenger seat demanded, rubbing his own head where it had banged against the window.

"Just remembered we've got to pick something up," Nate grumbled, and Henley groaned inwardly, wondering what else was coming. It was becoming hard to stay conscious with the pain, and lack of food and water. Maybe she was going to die like this, in a cage, at the hand of magic haters.

"What else do we need? Please tell me it's sandwiches," the dim-witted cohort asked, rooting around in the SUV's glove compartment for a snack. "This job isn't providing for my _needs_, man-"

"No, we need a better cage, this L-Corp place on the way is gonna hook me up with one, and locks and new chains and stuff, I called ahead," the bodyguard supplied shortly. "It'll only take a second, then we pop her in and lock it, done deal until we reach the boss."

The realization spreading across Henley's mind dulled any sensation of pain in that moment, until the SUV took another, even sharper turn.

* * *

Twilight was upon Nevada, a murky indigo overtaking the vibrant shades of crimson that had colored the Las Vegas sunset mere moments ago. A faint gleam shone upon Lake Mead from the feeble remnants of sun, rendering the west edge slightly visible as darkness fell. And suddenly, a patch of the now-inoperable marina was illuminated by several portable floodlights abruptly flaring to life. They illuminated the aging dock, which several men milled about on, a miniature heavy-duty construction crane with a small load suspended over the lake, and an impatient Thaddeus Bradley, standing atop a crate and checking his watch every so often.

A weak rattling reached his ears, and he turned towards the crane. "I can hit the release button _any_ time, Miss Reeves." The metallic clanking ceased, and Bradley turned back around with a huff of annoyance, half-heartedly scanning the surrounding hills for any sign of an approaching vehicle, anything to herald the arrival of his visitors. They, of course, would not arrive as expected, and he was hardly surprised when an alarmed shout rose, and his crew all stared in amazement at the trio of men who had appeared in their midst.

Jack was shuffling a deck of cards without looking, his eyes roving his surroundings instead. Merritt tipped his hat with a quiet "Evening, gentlemen," shoving his hands in his pockets as he and Jack moved to flank Danny. As a group they parted the crowd of Bradley's henchmen, and as they approached the man himself, Hermia and Nate flanked him in turn.

"No opening monologue? No cheesy promise of awe-inspiring magic to come? No fancy outfits?" Bradley asked, folding his arms and eyeing their casual clothes with a cocked brow. "I think I expected more of the Four Horsemen. Pardon me, three, though that situation can be remedied with a word from you. Now then, are you prepared to give me the name that the girl has foolishly withheld all this time? Whoever has filled your heads with idiotic notions of secret magical cult memberships. I'd like to dedicate my next special to them, tearing their acts apart as I'll be."

"Me." Danny had spoken lowly, and Bradley strained to hear. Danny raised his chin defiantly, looking Bradley square in the eye as he spoken in his usual rapid tones, easily keeping focus on himself as Jack reached into his jacket, and Merritt began whispering to the men around them. "It's been me all along. Haven't you noticed I have an attention complex? With this arrangement not only do I receive nonstop attention as a Horseman, the best-looking one might I add, but I receive likely triple acclaim once I am revealed as the mastermind of our three-act show. Really, Thaddeus, I'm flattered that you've clearly driven yourself mad with the need to know who I was when you should have simply looked closer and closer. You really didn't have to take all this trouble to feed, clothe, and otherwise take care of the weakest link in our chain-" -Here an indignant shriek sounded from the load suspended from the crane- "-But really, I think I'm flattered, so thank you, thank _you_ for demanding the reveal so eagerly."

Thaddeus was quiet for a moment, eyes cast skyward as he thought for a moment, making a subtle gesture with his hand behind his back. The bodyguard behind him melted into the shadows, and Hermia shifted her weight uneasily. "You know, I really was almost convinced there for a moment. And I wish I had clued you in to more of the facts, because then you might have _really_ been ahead of me by a few steps, but the fact is, you lose no matter how this ends. Miss Reeves back here," he gestured vaguely at the crane, "She needs some serious medical attention, and that need is only about to increase, I think, unless you come with me quietly, and explain each and every trick."

Merritt and Jack stayed back as Danny moved forward, nodding resignedly. At a nod from Bradley, Hermia moved forward to handcuff him. Then Bradley spoke into the silence. "Hit it, Nate." The groaning of machinery coming to life was the only warning sound before Henley screamed, and a splash sounded, echoing around the decrepit marina.

All at once, the handcuffs were around Hermia's wrists instead, and J. Daniel Atlas was nowhere to be seen. Another splash sounded, while simultaneously a shouting at the end of the dock heralded the arrival of the entire Clark County Sheriff's department, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

When the Horsemen had first been brought together a year ago, despite all the jabs and scornful glances she had sent his way, Daniel had sworn he would never lose Henley again, _whatever_ that meant. He would do whatever it took to remain in her good graces, even if the group split up at the end of their mission, even if she got into The Eye and he didn't. He could never bear it if she left again, not like three years ago.

* * *

Rebecca was giggling that high-pitched giggle that Danny despised, that he somehow endured because she idolized him, worshiped the ground he stood on and did every single thing he told her to during shows. There was no fiery defiance at his decision to have no dialogue at all on her part, no straight-up refusal to don the slinky barely-there dress of the night, and no locks of red hair being found all over his tools, his clothes, and his stage, when he used Rebecca in shows, on Henley's nights off.

And therein lay the problem: Rebecca wasn't Henley, no matter how much she boosted his ego, was easier to work with, and never demanded alterations to his trick setups.

On this particular day the pair of them were rehearsing a levitation act, and Rebecca had chosen to practice in the skimpy stage outfit, not her usual sweatpants and hoodie, which was odd. But Daniel chose to think nothing of it, absorbed as he was in making a splash with the latest shows he had been working on.

In the finale of the act, Rebecca would be dropped from the highest point she reached, and a thrown silk purple scarf would make her "disappear", with the aid of a mirror manipulating the backdrop of the stage. In reality, Daniel would be catching her behind the scenes hurriedly, before she would seemingly appear among the audience.

It was their third run-through, and Rebecca was doing exceedingly well, although Henley had learned the act much faster. Danny snapped his fingers, and on cue, she fell straight into his arms with a little squeal. And then, she grabbed him around the neck and kissed him. He was dimly aware of the sound of a door opening and closing, and approaching footsteps, and just as Rebecca shoved her tongue into his mouth, a quiet gasp that was somehow deafening broke through his mental cloud of shock.

Promptly dropping Rebecca, who let out a shrill squeak as she hit the ground, Danny ran a hand through his hair, trying to gauge the expression of the red-haired woman who had just entered through the main audience entrance.

Henley had quickly schooled her pained expression into a mask of cold fury, dropping her messenger bag to the ground and folding her arms across her chest as she watched the spectacle. When Danny met her eyes, she raised a brow. "Ready for _dessert_, J. Daniel Atlas?" They had made plans to meet for dinner that night, Henley's day off, after Danny was finished rehearsing.

"Henley, that was – that a _completely_ unscripted improv move on Rebecca's part that I did not and do not condone, I really don't know what-"

"I saw what you _condoned_. I know that she's smaller and lighter and _enjoys_ being crammed by you into small spaces and that this was only a matter of time-" Henley cut herself off with a choked sob, and looked down at her feet, blinking back tears furiously, scuffing the dangerously-pointed heel of her boot against the worn carpet of the hall they rented rehearsal and performance timeslots from. Seemingly making a decision after a short mental debate, she nodded to herself, picking up her bag again and swinging the strap over her head, keeping the bag across her torso like a shield. "I quit." She turned and strode quickly back up the aisle, her mane of red hair swinging like a beacon among the darkened rows of seats.

"Henley, what – wait – no!" Danny flailed verbally, alternately raising a hand in a futile attempt to stop her, and dropping it again. The only reply was the harsh slamming of the door as she exited.

A huffing behind him whipped Danny around, only to be met with the furious expression on Rebecca's face. "You _dropped_ me-" "Rebecca, that was not, that was uncalled for, I don't-" "_Save_ it Atlas, I quit too! Find someone else to struggle to fit in your stupid costumes and boxes!" She strode off, grabbing her bag and jacket that were slung over a chair, and Danny was left with the silent hall and his thoughts.

Swallowing thickly, he tried to process all that had happened in a two-minute interval. Henley was gone. Rebecca was gone. He was out two assistants and a girlfriend, all in one performance not even of his own orchestration.

When he checked his phone, Henley's contact information was gone, her phone number, her email, any email he had ever received from her, everything. And when he went home that night, all of her stuff was missing from his place, including her hairdryer, which he would never admit he occasionally used to get his hair to look just right.

Every trace of Henley was gone, except for some strands of auburn hair lingering on his pillow.

* * *

Danny had never been a strong swimmer, preferring Henley to perform the water acts, which he downplayed of course because it was not _him_ performing, but he had never swam like he was now. Having dived into the water the second Bradley was distracted, he sought the cage enclosing Henley, but it was like searching for a needle in a haystack. The water was dark, was murky to begin with, there was literally no way to see anything.

And suddenly, something struck his arm, a heavy metallic cord that linked the crane's load to the machinery's arm. It was still attached, and he had never been more grateful in his life. He tried not to concentrate on the thought of how much of life thus far had consisted of sleight of hand, illusions, things appearing to happen but not occurring in actuality. This was really happening. Hoping that those several lessons from Henley had enabled him to hold his breath for unnaturally long periods of time still, Danny grabbed the rough-edged cord, ignoring the scraping along his hands, pulling himself further into the depths of Lake Mead as he swore Henley wouldn't be taken from him this time.

* * *

**I've got work the rest of the day, but I'm continually outlining and things, so maybe another chapter tomorrow! ~Bon**


	9. Chapter 9

**Wrapping this up in the next chapter or so, I'd like to move on to some more oneshots and Rhodes+Dray! thank you guys, and enjoy!**

* * *

The seemingly-impenetrable murk of Lake Mead was suddenly cut through, faintly, with the illumination from a glow stick held weakly by Henley Reeves. She was lucky the water pressure from sinking wasn't ripping it from her grasp, and also lucky that it was in her grasp in the first place.

When they had hauled the cage containing Henley onto the crane's hauling cord, Hermia had told the men to take five, presumably so she could threaten the other woman further. Instead, she had slipped the slender piece of hope into Henley's pained grasp, closing her fingers around it. "Get out if you can," Hermia had whispered, before stepping away and barking "And don't do anything stupid!" Henley had been startled, quickly concealing the small tool before the men returned to suspend her over the water.

Now she was holding her breath, trying to remain conscious, attempting to keep hold of the glow stick, _and_ evaluating escape possibilities all at once, even as she sank further and further from the surface of the lake.

All at once, something slammed into the cage, nearly jarring precious air from Henley's startled lips, even more so when she realized by the watery light that it was Daniel who was now clawing frantically at the latches on the cage she was enclosed in. Strengthened by the sight of him, Henley concentrated on the cage's construction, which she now knew would have several weaknesses. L-corp did nothing by the book. She gestured feebly for him to keep a hold on a particular side of the cage, hoping he could see and comprehend her meaning, underwater and nearly-invisible as their surroundings were. Neither of them had an unlimited supply of air left, and Henley could only thank her lucky stars that she had ever forced Daniel into breath-holding lessons from her. But the time had been well spent, in any case, the lessons having led up to that first kiss…

* * *

It was very early into their performances when Henley had made it clear that she would not be the one who was schooled for every show, dragged through the teachings of every act, that Daniel would have to show some effort and undertake some projects of her own devising, if she was to work with him. And so she had started with the breath lessons, as so many of her projects involved water. If she was going to master his ridiculous sawn-in-half exhibitions, in those _ridiculously_-skimpy outfits, might she add, he was damn well going to be put through something equally as difficult.

They had started with simply doing it in the open air, Henley holding an elegant stopwatch of hers that somehow suited her perfectly, Daniel rolling his eyes as he sat, cheeks puffed, willing the time to pass quickly so she would move on.

"You know, it's not even really a test until you're facing something that leaves you literally breathless, where it's a danger to even take a breath, like under water or if someone gassed the room you're in, or-"

"-Or if an exceptionally-skilled person kisses you-"

"Hypothetically, I suppose-"

"Well if that's your professional opinion, far be it from me to refute it but I just want to prove that these lessons are useless and I can already hold my breath for perfectly sufficient periods of time-"

And he had kissed her, lunging from his chair across to her own, cupping the back of her head with one hand, and tilting her chin with the other as he captured her lips with his own. Startled, Henley had thrown a hand against his chest, but a moment later had ceased trying to push him away, and was clenching that fist into the material of his sweater, pulling him closer as their mouths wrestled. It was at least a full moment before they broke apart, thoroughly breathless, Henley's red hair tousled as if they'd been at it for hours, and a tinge of pink high up on Danny's cheeks as though he were feverish.

Running her hands through her mane to correct the messy locks, Henley averted her eyes, trying to slow her breath. "Um, well, for someone who isn't well-versed in…that…I mean the breath part, um…That was a great start, although if you planned it, you knew to take a deep breath and it's simply not the same if you know it's coming, and you need to be ready for anything in this business I think-" And she had thrown herself right back at Daniel, knocking his chair over in the process, though neither of them minded, or even remembered, ten seconds later.

* * *

"Freeze! Nobody move!" The sheriff's deputies were yelling, bounding down the dock and around the derelict marina, waving their guns and tackling various henchmen of Bradley's. There was chaotic scuffling for several moments, until a new set of sirens cut into the scene, several black cars speeding into sight; the first had hardly halted before the doors were open, and Agents Rhodes and Dray had guns drawn as they rushed forward.

"We got your call!" Rhodes yelled by way of explanation. "You'd better be right about this!"

Bradley was looking between the two groups of law enforcement advancing upon him with guns drawn, and he began slowly backing up, raising his hands. "There must be some mistake, I-I was sent another message from the person who sent me that first stream, they _promised _me a scoop on the Horsemen-"

"Oh, another million-dollar payday was looming and you jumped for it, huh, Thaddeus?" Agent Rhodes sneered at the magic debunker, waving his men in closer. "Where are the Horsemen?"

"At your service, Agent Rhodes, and I think we've done you a couple favors," a cheery male voice called from behind the ranks of agents and deputies. Merritt was standing there, fedora slightly askew but otherwise intact, with several of Bradley's henchmen on their knees in front of him, imitating dogs, with mouths wide open and panting in the evening gloom. "I think I'll take that tenner now."

Jack came up beside the mentalist, shoving two men to the ground who had both been handcuffed awkwardly, arms brought up under the legs, a hand locked around their neck, and the like. He was brushing his hands off, looking proud of himself. One of the men was Nate, with several thin slices across his face, and looking behind the group, several supposedly-harmless playing cards were scattered about. The bodyguard was also sporting a black eye and several wounds that appeared to be burns, all over. Merritt side-eyed the sight, and Jack shrugged. "Put up a fight." Merritt nodded. They knew he had been the one to harm their fourth Horseman, and no huge dose of mercy would've been given in any case.

Rhodes turned back to Bradley. "The girl, where is she, Bradley? And Atlas?"

The man shrugged, eyes edging to the right, and into the depths of the lake. "Several dozen feet under, I'd assume, agent, so maybe I'm not your priority right now?"

* * *

Daniel Atlas was not a man of inaction, control freak and neurotic perfectionist that he was, and it didn't make a difference whether he was on the stage, ordering a sandwich at a deli, or far beneath the surface of a lake just outside Las Vegas, Nevada, watching the love of his life struggle, half-conscious, to get herself out of a locked cage. And that was all he could do, pry uselessly at the thin metal bars as Henley visibly fought to free herself. He probably had thirty seconds of air left, and was trying hard to keep the anxiety down, which was ninety percent for Henley at the moment.

He was startled from his mental calculations by a slender hand slipping through the bars, fingers linking with his with a frantic strength, as Henley's other hand grappled with knotted chains and a sturdy padlock, while her thumb kept the glow stick in her grasp. He squinted to see the expression on her face, which was one of concentration, whether it was figuring out the locks, or staying awake, or both. He could only squeeze her hand tightly, keeping his other hand on the edge of the cage she had pointed at a moment ago.

Her movements were slowing, from what he could see, and suddenly, the glow stick, basically her life line at this point, slipped from her hold, falling through the water before Danny wrenched his hand from Henley's momentarily, snatching the light up again in time to illuminate her dropping her hands completely, and the walls of the cage collapsing in all directions.

He worked quickly, shoving the metal pieces and chains away to sink further into the depths, even abandoning the light as he grabbed Henley around the waist and kicked upwards. She wasn't moving much in his grasp, and fear lent him speed as he wrestled his way to the surface, finally breaking the surface with a gasp, and no small lack of finesse. He couldn't care about that right now though, as his eyes sought Henley's, which were closed, her skin deathly pale.

Jerking his gaze around, Danny's eyes lit on a small utility barge, little more than a heavy-duty plank of wood, about twelve square feet across and anchored to float several yards from the main pier. It was closer, and he was not bringing Henley anywhere near that bastard Bradley, and so he struck out for her, keeping her head carefully above the water as he maneuvered.

Heaving his sodden self onto the impromptu raft, Danny gingerly eased Henley up and into his lap, swallowing thickly and trying to concentrate. "Henley? Hen, can you hear me?" Her limp hand was dragging across the wood, and he lifted it, almost dropping it again in fury as he saw the swelling and obviously-grievous injury inflicted upon. It looked several hours old, but she could get an infection and permanent nerve damage if she didn't receive medical attention soon, and so much of Henley's trade image was her hands. Not that he cared about her marketability at this point about that, but she was injured, and he had to fix it.

Laying her down as gently as he could, Danny ignored the crowd turning to watch from the main pier, and the shouting of Rhodes as he barked senseless commands at his people, tearing at the neckline of the jacket she had been submerged in. Tilting her head back, Danny ran through every single stage of by-the-book CPR he had learned, slanting his mouth across hers and trying to get air down her uncooperative throat, and compressing her chest. In any other situation, fondling her chest and attacking her mouth would have been the most pleasurable activities he could think of, really, but the water dripping from his face now was not just lake water, it was tears mingling with that murky liquid.

She still wasn't moving. He repeated his motions as calmly as possible, whispering words of encouragement, promising a solo act in which she was the star, and _he_ the assistant, if only she would come back to him. His own breaths starting to come in with difficulty, Danny fought down the panic, laying his ear next to Henley's face, for any signs of life. He had just felt a slight exhalation, or so he thought, and leaned closer, just in time for Henley to lunge up into his face, coughing up mouthfuls of water and gasping.

As quickly as she had revived, she was passing out again, falling limply against his shoulder from her position of upheaval. He smoothed her hair back from her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead and muttering thanks to the universe and any deity that would listen, before gathering his cool again, standing and hefting her in his arms to face the onlookers.

* * *

Just as Rhodes had lowered his gun, assessing the situation, a splashing rent the air, and Alma Dray had pointed out something bobbing on the surface of the lake, barely visible by the rippling light of the moon on the water. One of the deputies aimed their high-power flashlight at it in time to see Atlas, towing what looked like the unconscious escape artist girl, towards a barge.

"You'd better hope that girl's made it, Bradley, or you won't be making any sort of show anytime soon, unless it's an episode of COPS," Rhodes snarled. "We've already got a page full of indictments against you just from the past three days alone, and if you so much as move _another muscle_-" Bradley had been edging towards a stack of crates that concealed the pathway of a connected dock- "I will shoot you in the leg where you stand, with the weight of the law behind me."

A voice broke through Rhodes' accusatory tones. "I think it _is_ about time he experiences the cold burn of being involuntary handcuffed, Agent Rhodes." It was Atlas, no more than a silhouette in the flickering light from the flashlights that hardly reached his position. He looked to be holding the girl, who still appeared unconscious. "And as for The Four Horsemen, well, I think we've put on enough of a show tonight."

A communal gasp came from the Clark County deputies and their sheriff, and Rhodes spun around, looking for Atlas, who had apparently just disappeared. The other two Horsemen were gone as well, and all that reminded were Bradley's men, bound, or otherwise behaving like mindless canines on the ground.

"No! We were _supposed _to get _them too,_ you idiots!" Rhode yelled in frustration, rubbing his eyes wearily and holstering his gun. Alma Dray approached him, opening her mouth to say something, but he evaded her, dodging past and storming up the dock. A handcuffed Bradley was shoved in that direction as well, and the remaining men were bound and read their rights too.

* * *

**Response has been so phenomenal. Thank you so much. ~Bon**


	10. Chapter 10

**Final chapter! Left a couple things open, and introduced a little bit of Alma's mindset, probably to lead into another oneshot I have planned, for her and Dylan. I also have another Danley oneshot in the works, going off of her comments about him posting on her website...Anyhow, you guys can think of this as being in between act 2 and 3 in the movie, I think that fits timewise, although AU, of course, when it comes to Thaddeus Bradley, etc. Thanks so much for making this fic awesome and fun to write! I love all the reviews and comments! See you soon! **

* * *

There was not much Alma Dray hated more than paperwork. Condescending males and sauerkraut made the list, and that was about it. And here she was, in Las Vegas, party central of America, if not the world, and she was at a desk doing paperwork. Not even a nice desk topped with a shiny plaque bearing her name and equipped with a comfortable chair; no, she was at a standard-issue gray chunk of metal shaped to look like a desk, on a rickety foldable chair. Filling out the third in what was turning out to be a long line and thick stack of forms, for compilation of her report to Interpol.

The aforementioned report would have been more aptly named "Fictional Narrative Composed of Lie After Lie In An Attempt To Protect Interested Parties Whom I May or May Not Have A Thing For".

She had concocted a longwinded tale in which the Horsemen had been proven innocent of any wrongdoing thus far, having been coerced under threat of harm by one Thaddeus Bradley, who had proven those threats by abducting and torturing one of the members, blackmailing the remaining members further, and subsequently being arrested in the act. On and on it went, but that was basically the bottom line, and she wished she could leave it at a lame summation like that. She also wished she could be partaking of the bottle of whiskey she'd seen Rhodes smuggle into his office down the hall.

"Merde," she breathed, running a hand through her hair and mussing up her already-untidy bun even further. He was another story altogether. Always adorably disheveled, hilariously frustrated with something or other, and always attractive, magnetic in some way that eluded her. And those eyes…

Alma slapped a palm against her cheek, shaking her head and returning to her paperwork. The sooner it was done, the sooner she could return to Paris and her desk, the calm life she had led before. But even as she typed, her eyes strayed to the deck of cards shoved haphazardly to one side of her working space, the top card crooked atop the rest, invitingly.

* * *

An aching in her bones was the first feeling to return, her wrist throbbing the most, and then the thirst, and then sound, the sound of a man's voice, reciting what sounded like instructions.

Trying furiously to open her eyes, Henley succeeded in blinking very feebly, regretting it when the harsh fluorescent lighting above stabbed into her pupils. Struggling to pull a weak forearm across her eyes, she must have made a whimper of pain or something, because suddenly Danny was there, leaning over her, blocking the light as he brought his face within eight inches of hers.

She groaned, mustering the strength to fully fling the arm across her face. "No makeup…look terrible." It came out in a croaked mumble, dehydrated as she was, but Danny only smiled crookedly, pouring water from the bedside stand's pitcher into a glass. "You must be back, if you're whining that you're not stage-ready."

Gently, he coaxed her into a more upright sitting position and the wrist away from her face, an arm curving firmly behind her back to support her as his other arm tilted the glass to her lips. Henley drank a few tentative sips, closing her eyes and nodding in thanks, clearing her throat and trying not to blush at the close contact. Instead, her eyes adjusted finally to the light, her gaze roamed the hospital room she appeared to be in. "Where am I?"

Danny set the glass aside, seating himself in the bedside chair although he longed to relinquish control, to climb in the bed beside her and cradle her and make sure she was okay after all. "Hospital. We got you admitted privately, with the help of Merritt and Jack. Your, uh, your name's Molly, while we're in here, by the way, so as not to confuse the very nice nurse we have been, uh, dealing with." As he spoke, Henley had been analyzing the thick brace enclosing her injured wrist, raising the limb experimentally and wincing as he fell silent. "Which reminds me, she's probably due in here to give you some more morphine or something…" As he reached for the call button, Henley's frail grasp stopped his arm's progress. "Danny…"

He cleared his throat, pulling his arm back and rising from the chair, beginning to pace. "Yeah, Hen?"

She looked down, her eyes scrunching up in pleasure as she grinned. "I love that nickname."

His small smile finally met his eyes, and he stopped pacing, instead pulling out a deck of cards and starting to shuffle it absently. The movement triggered her memory.

"Were you reading to me, before I woke up?" Her puzzled expression was adorable as Danny nodded. "Well, actually, I was listing off instructions to card trick after card trick. I read once that even when unconscious, people can hear and the memory can retain and I figured why not take this down-time to further progress your sadly-lacking skills in the arena of cards-"

She raised a pale hand in supplication, and he cut himself off, and several of the cards slipped from his grasp. She raised a brow; she'd never seen that happen except when he was extremely flustered, and a high blush usually accompanied the faltering. Indeed, his cheeks were pink, and he avoided even looking in her direction as he gathered the cards back into his hands, putting the deck away into an inner pocket of his jacket and retrieving two coins, which he began flicking along his fingers, seating himself again. It was one of the very first tricks he had mastered, and it helped him think; Tressler had always been hilariously intrigued and would stare at him doing it on flights.

Henley simply watched him, and the silence grew between them, awkward on his end, relaxed on her end. She'd forgotten what she was saying, content simply to watch Danny perform, as had always been the case.

At length, she spoke quietly. "What exactly happened, Danny?"

His fingers faltered again at the mention of his name, and he looked up at her for a second before continuing his trick. "Well, you got yourself out of a cage." She stared at him hard, and he continued quietly. "You barely made it out and started to pass out, so I got you to the surface, did a little, um, CPR, and then we…well, vanished. Left Bradley in the dust, so to speak, surrounded by a ton of officers of the law. Heard he's arrested, manacled by a ton of charges even he can't deny, when a file of evidence happened to appear in an FBI agent's inbox."

Henley looked unseeingly at her blankets, absentmindedly tracing the fabric with her fingers, opening and closing her palms and wishing she had her gloves on. "The cage, it was made by L-corp. Shoddy material. Had several weaknesses, but I was sorta out of it…I remember prying at the hinges…I did it, then?"

Danny stood suddenly, reaching into his back pocket and retrieving a small bundle. As he did so, he murmured soothingly. "Yep. No point in dwelling, we all got out okay, Hen. I mean statistically everything about the past week has been a longshot on our part and a pure miracle that I am genius enough to find flaws in the rules of physics and counter them with illusion and…well, anyways, I brought a pair of these for you…" He plopped the small bundle on her blanketed knees, and she saw it was a pair of her favorite leather gloves, folded in on each other neatly. She swallowed thickly, seeing them, and looked up at Danny with tears forming in her eyes as she pulled them on gratefully. "Thanks."

"No problem." He sat back down, no coins or cards in his hands now, simply crossing one leg over the other and watching her. Her eyes rose a moment later, eyes full of emotion, and she whispered his name, reaching out a leather-clad hand. He quickly leaned forward to grab it, but as she opened her mouth, all she got out was "Thanks for coming-" before the door swung open and the rest of the horsemen piled into the small room. Merritt still had a hand to his ear, looking as if he'd been pressed against the door for some time, and quickly lower the offending appendage, shoving it behind his back. Jack was unabashedly grinning, staring at their entwined hands, which they quickly pulled back against their respective chests, coughing and clearing throats simultaneously.

"What was that about coming?" Merritt asked, examining the nails of his other hand closely.

Danny's eyes were wide as saucers, his cheeks pinkening as he started to rapidly rattle off some excuse, while Henley decided not to give in to Merritt, and tossed her hair haughtily. "What, you want in too, Merritt?" The mentalist's jaw dropped, and Henley could have _sworn_ she saw some drool emitted.

* * *

Henley had always been treated like the princess of the Horsemen, which, she supposed she was, until Merritt began participating in Tranny Tuesday like he always threatened when she rejected his joking advances, and she truly felt the part now. Danny was coaxing jello down her throat, Jack had run to the drugstore to get her some makeup, and Merritt had _pleaded_ with her to allow him to brush her hair. She'd refused, and sent him out into the hall to get some juicy gossip on all of the nursing staff with his skills. When the door had closed on his jovial wave, she had exhaled in relief, brushing away the offer of more jello, which tasted more like red-colored hair gel, settling back against her pillows.

"If you want me to leave, I can go book you into a suite at the hotel-" Danny was rising, jerking a thumb towards the doorway.

"No, stay." She scooted to one side of her bed, and patted the space she had made. "Sit."

Danny approached cautiously, afraid he would be hit with a conjured ruler or something random, and settled on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you for diving into a mucky lake in the middle of the night to try to break me out of a cage," Henley began. "Of course, I had it all under control, I mean who of the two of us is the escape artist here-" When Danny opened his mouth to protest, she reached out a finger and pressed it against his lips to keep him silent. "But back to my thanks. I'm sure Bradley thought he had one up on you guys, and I'm so grateful you figured out his crap and found me. Thank you, Danny." She moved her hand to his sweater-clad shoulder, squeezing gratefully.

He nodded his acknowledgement, eyes traveling to her injured wrist. "Hen, what happened…?"

She bit her lip, shivering as she remembered the hulking bodyguard and his threats of violence, accompanied so constantly by leers. "It…doesn't matter. They're all jailed and stuff, right?" He nodded again, and she clasped her gloved hands together abruptly, making a little squelching noise at the leather on leather contact. "Right, well, we have a final act to prepare for, don't we? Where are those blueprints?"

He moved to the second bedside chair to reach into the messenger bag he usually had on him, retrieving a tablet and swiping a couple times, bringing up some schematics of 5 Pointz in New York. "We've gotta make sure we set up Jack's vanishing act correctly, too, do you remember what I told you about that…" As he spoke, he moved back to the bed, and at Henley's insistence, laid alongside her, an arm across the pillow behind her head, as he laid the tablet in her lap and starting pointing at different areas of the screen.

When Jack arrived with a bag of ragtag cosmetics, and the number of a helpful makeup counter girl tucked into his back pocket, he wasn't surprised to see their position, and laid the purchases down on a chair before muttering something about lunch and heading back out. Merritt ducked in excitedly with a story about a female nurse consorting with another female nurse, deciding to shelf the tale with one last wolf-whistle before closing the door quietly.

Neither the illusionist nor escape artist noticed much of either of their partners' interruptions, and the tablet wasn't holding their attention either after long. Henley had not been interested in planning their act after all, and just as Danny was earnestly describing the wiring of the holograph projector, she had leant up and caught his lips with hers, her bound hand reaching up to bring his face closer; that had ended any further discussion.

* * *

**thank you. ~Bon**


End file.
